Slow Burn
by sunshineditty
Summary: Outsider POV - She couldn't begrudge the Winchesters their happiness, no matter what form it took.


**Title**: Slow Burn  
**Author:** Sunshineditty  
**Fandom:** Supernatural Gen  
**Pairing:** Implied Dean/Sam  
**Rating**: T (for Dean's potty mouth)  
**Word Count:** 1,321**  
Summary: **(Outsider POV) She couldn't begrudge other people their happiness, no matter what package it came in

* * *

The day was hot and still, the kind of slow easy burn where no one wants to venture out because it's easier to stay still. She didn't expect any customers, and was okay with that really since the heat had baked into her bones and she wasn't moving too fast, so she looked up with an impatient frown when the bell jingled above the door. She'd razzed Norm for years for putting it up, even as she secretly liked the old-fashioned touch.

The men stepping across the threshold onto the worn linoleum weren't who or _what_ she expected. She'd been born and reared in this little town on the edge of nowhere and knew everyone worth knowing, so they were strangers to her, but oh worth the look. She straightened, tugging at the edge of her pale pink shirt, silently cursing the faded stains dotting the front. One night after a long day she'd been a little too liberal with the bleach and it had splashed across her uniform top and she couldn't be bothered to replace it since it didn't matter anyhow. Cursing herself for being an old fool and worrying about what she looked like, she welcomed them in, eyes tracing over broad shoulders and long legs, imagination filling in the trim waists and muscled arms when their layers shielded the stretch of flesh and bone in between. It was a little strange to see them covered so when it was nearly a hundred outside, but she shrugged away the oddness and assured them they could pick any seats.

Not like anyone else was there beside her and Norm anyway.

The taller one looked around the small room and arrowed to the only booth in the corner, his hand bent around the shorter one's bicep, tugging him along like a toddler with his favorite toy. There was muffled protest, but the shaggy brown-haired looker ignored him and settled him in the seat and pinned him there with a look before sliding in next to him. A chuckle caught in her throat as she was suddenly reminded of her mama aiming a look like that at her brother when they were young and he was full of piss and vinegar, too restless to stay still in the church's pew. The young man – and clearly younger than the one he manhandled she realized as she got close enough to see them more clearly – dimpled up at her when she asked him what he wanted to drink. Her breath nearly strangled her when she switched her attention to his companion and sulky green eyes looked back at her. He was pretty, pretty like the china doll she wanted so badly as a kid when she saw it through Mason's storefront window, and she craved to own him just as surely as the doll all those years ago.

Her hand was on his forearm almost without her noticing, but it was brought to her attention real fast when the tall drink of water leaned across him and glared at her. She backed up and blushed a little especially when she was all but blasted with his possessive _hands off what's mine_ vibe. They lived in the backwater, sure, but even she could tell they were a couple and her acquisitive feeling died as fast as it arose. She had never married, always pining for the one she couldn't have, but she couldn't begrudge other people their happiness despite her own disappointments. Instead, she was humbled by these two thumbing their nose at society and taking what they wanted; if she'd been half as brave, maybe she would've been a lot happier.

It wasn't often she was interested in her customers – hard to be when she'd grown up alongside most of them – so it was shocking when she heard herself asking their names. They looked at one another, wordless communication flowing between them, and she wondered if she cocked her head just right if she'd tune into their frequency and hear them. A moment later they came to a decision and the younger but taller one introduced himself as Sam while his pretty pouty lover was Dean. Her mouth shaped their sounds, the syllables rolling through her, and filled the echoing silences she'd spent a lifetime training herself to ignore. She didn't know how long she stood there, but she came abruptly to when she felt a strange wet sensation on her hands. Looking down, she saw with a start, blood was dripping from her arms onto the table.

Embarrassment and bewilderment welled as she tried to discern how she'd hurt herself. When she tracked the blood to its source, she was astonished to find a large hole in the center of her chest. Dean spoke then, his deep whiskey laced voice soothing the ache she felt spreading through her, even as she scoffed a little at his _sweetheart_, _your time to move on,_ and _go into the light_. She felt a little vindicated when Sam elbowed him sharply and called him a jerk for saying the last bit. None of this made sense to her, including why the diner had suddenly disappeared and they were all standing in the middle of a burnt down building, at night. She looked around a little desperately, distantly noting certain characteristics that told her they were in the corner of the diner still, even if everything was melted and scarred, age and disuse adding years.

Sam, clearly the more sensitive of the two, must've read the panic and uncertainty in her face because he began to gently explain what was going on: apparently forty years ago, during a heat wave, her lover's wife had come storming into the diner to accuse her of adultery. She couldn't deny the charges because they'd been fornicating behind Charlene's back for the last twenty years. Charlene pulled a gun from her handbag and shot her in the chest, fatally wounding her. Unfortunately, the bullet had gone clear through and hit the grill behind her, sparking an uncontrollable blaze which consumed everything. Norm was the only one of the three who got out alive, mostly because he'd been in the alley way behind the diner taking a smoke break.

She wanted to deny his story, accuse him of being crazy, but small snatches of memory kept intruding and she saw the events as he narrated them. Shaking, she stepped away from these suddenly dangerous men, and tried to flee, but Dean was magically in front of her, a rod of iron in his hands. Her flesh – ghostly as it was – boiled from the close contact and she arched her fingers into a claw, desperate for him to back off because she didn't _want_ to leave, needed to stay. His eyes softened a little, though she realized too late it was due to who was _behind_ her than because of anything she said or did.

She felt the fire crawling across her body and she screamed as she vanished with a puff of ethereal smoke.

"Well, that was…different."

Sam smirked at his brother.

"Others have mistaken us as a couple before."

"Yeah, but a _ghost?_"

"You are as pretty as she said, so she probably thought you were a girl. Makes sense to me."

The heavy slap across his face was better than the shin kick two weeks ago during another case with a similar mistake by a motel clerk, and his subsequent needling then.

"What the fuck ever, Sammy. You're totally the bitch in this relationship."

Sam's lips widened into a smile, dimples flashing as he immediately stepped into the breach. "Woo, relationship, huh? Are we going steady? You do know I'm the kind of guy who puts out on the first date." He scanned their surroundings. "Though I must admit this would be the kinkiest place I've ever had sex in."

He totally deserved that punch.


End file.
